Oh, Come, Oh, Come Emmanuel
by Freya-Kendra
Summary: Caught in a blizzard on Christmas Eve, Joe follows his brother's song after the trail itself becomes obscured by the heavy snow.


**Oh, Come, Oh, Come Emmanuel**

**XxXxX**

_Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel_

Joe heard Adam singing. His brother's cadence was slower, and his voice, softer than usual. He sounded contemplative...lonely.

_That mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear_

No. It couldn't be Adam's voice. It simply wasn't possible. It was a dream, a wish, a desperate hope, nothing more. Joe was still far from home, surely much too far to hear his brother's quiet, gentle singing.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to you, O Israel_

It was the snow, Joe told himself—the silence of it, the pure whiteness of it, the numbing breath of it. It wrapped around him like a frigid blanket, obliterating the trail in front of him, hiding the trees to either side, making it impossible for him to see north from south. Making it impossible for him to find his way home.

_Oh, come, our Wisdom from on high, who ordered all things mightily_

He should have stayed in Carson City. He should have waited for the storm to pass. But he'd never expected a storm at all, had he? This one had come sweeping down from the mountains with a vengeance, as though it was determined to keep him from his home.

_To us the path of knowledge show, and teach us in her ways to go_

It was just snow. Just a little Christmas snow. He'd ridden through snowfall before. There'd been no reason to think those gentle, quiet flakes would grow into a raging blizzard. No reason at all. In fact, when he'd left Carson City, the sight of that quiet snowfall had lifted his spirits, made him that much more eager to get home.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to you, O Israel_

But the mountains could turn weather quickly, churning showers into blizzards…lambs into lions. Joe should have given more consideration to the fickle nature of the weather, and less to his desire to be home for Christmas.

_Oh, come, oh, come, our Lord of might, who to your tribes on Sinai's height_

Christmas was just a day on the calendar, after all. The celebrations, the observances, those were what mattered, not the timing. And God's timing surely didn't always correspond with man's. God has His own designs—and the mountains…and the weather, those are by His design, too.

_In ancient times gave holy law, in cloud and majesty and awe_

Awe? Yes. Joe awed these mountains. He also feared them. Not always. Maybe not even often enough. He feared them, he loved them…he found peace in them—even at that moment, as he rode without hope of knowing whether he was still on the trail at all.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to you, O Israel_

Maybe it was the sound of Adam's voice, impossible as it was, pulling him forward. Or maybe it was Cochise's uncanny sense of direction. But it certainly wasn't conscious thought. For all Joe could tell, he might be riding straight to the edge of a cliff. Still, he pressed onward. He had to. It was already too late to stop.

_Oh, come O Rod of Jesse's stem, from ev'ry foe deliver them_

He should have stopped when he'd first noticed the weather turning—when he could still see the rocks around him. He should have found what shelter he could, and then waited for the storm to pass. But home wasn't so far, after all. Surely, he could make it there before the worst of the snows began to fall.

_That trust your mighty pow'r to save; bring them in vict'ry through the grave_

Now, it was too late. Shelter could be just a few steps to either side of him, and he would never see it. The snow was a prison of white. A cave. A cocoon. A…grave.

A grave? Maybe. Yes, it could be, couldn't it? Joe's foolish decision, his childish eagerness to be home for Christmas, could be the last decision he would ever make. Snow like this could kill a man. It could blind him, entice him to a deadly, rocky fall, or simply numb him into an eternal sleep.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to you, O Israel_

Rejoice? Adam's song did not sound joyful. There was more sorrow in it than joy, as though…as though he was already mourning Little Joe's death…as though he already knew Joe would never make it home.

_Oh, come, O Key of David, come, and open wide our heav'nly home_

_I'm not ready to die_, Joe thought. _Not out here. Not alone_. Looking up, hoping for a glimpse of heaven, Joe saw only his pristine white grave; and he suddenly found himself praying as he'd never prayed before.

_Make safe the way that leads on high, and close the path to misery_

He'd been prideful, hadn't he? Joe had taken great pride in his father trusting him to attend to things in Carson City. Like a rite of passage, this trip had been made to show his brothers that he was a boy no longer, but a man, capable of making critical business decisions. Such pride, however, wasn't the mark of a man, was it? No. There were other decisions, other…_considerations_ that mattered more. And Joe had made the worst decision of all by continuing to ride home through this storm.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to you, O Israel_

I'm sorry, Adam…Pa…Hoss. I'm sorry for all the arguments. I'm sorry for my selfishness and bad decisions. I'm not a man. I'm a long way from being a man. I deserve this, I suppose. No one is responsible for this but me. I made a mistake…another mistake in a long string of mistakes. The worst kind of mistake, the kind I can never hope to make right.

_Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high, and cheer us by your drawing nigh_

It did feel as though he was drawing nigh, though, didn't it? Joe still couldn't see a thing, but…he could sense it. Somehow he felt certain that the house was just a little further. Even Cochise perked up. The horse's ears twitched, as though he, too, were listening to Adam's mournful song.

_Disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death's dark shadows put to flight_

Cochise blustered, and then stumbled, nearly driving Joe from the saddle. The horse was growing numb, too, wasn't he? And the snow was getting so deep it wouldn't be much longer before he could get no footing at all.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to you, O Israel_

_God_? Joe said in the quiet of his mind, not wanting to disturb Adam's song, impossible as it was for him to truly be hearing it. _I'm sorry, God, for being so prideful…so stubborn and willful. I deserve this, I suppose. I do. But…my family doesn't. Please, don't make them face Christmas in mourning_.

_Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind, in one the hearts of all mankind_

Joe sensed Cochise hesitating. The horse was finding it difficult to move on. Joe, too, was finding it difficult to _hold_ on. His fingers were stiff and burning. And his eyes…he was finding it increasingly hard to keep them open, blinded by all that numbing whiteness.

_Oh, bid our sad divisions cease, and be yourself our King of Peace_

He was tired…so tired that he was ready to give up, to just slip out of the saddle and lie down…to go to sleep lulled by the sound of his brother's sad song. Then he realized someone was helping him to do just that. He felt hands grabbing hold of him, tugging him from the saddle.

"Joe!" Hoss shouted through the deafening, white silence. "How in tarnation did you ever find your way home in this?"

He _was_ home, wasn't he? He was home, and his family had come out to greet him, to help lead him back to the warmth inside. He looked at each of them in turn, at first confused, and then amazed to see them at all…to be there among them.

"I heard Adam singing," he slurred in response, his jaw tight from the cold.

Smiling, he closed his eyes long enough to give a silent, quick prayer of thanks, oblivious to the confused gazes passing between his brothers and father.

Hours later, wrapped in blankets and relishing the warmth of a raging, glorious fire in the great room, Joe rested his eyes and listened to Adam gently strumming his guitar and singing a quiet, blessed song—a song that had already, miraculously guided Little Joe home.

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel, shall come to you, O Israel_

XxXxX

_end_

Hymn # 31 from Lutheran Worship-Author: French Processional-Tune: Veni Emmanuel-Translated: John Neal, 1818-66-1st Published in: 1854


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